“You can wait down in the lobby,” she said when I had placed the
opera-glasses and the programme on the edge of her box and adjusted
the footstool.
I am standing there and had to lean against the wall for support so
as not to fall down with envy and rage–no, rage isn’t the right
word; it was a mortal fear.
I saw her in her box dressed in blue moire, with a huge ermine cloak
about her bare shoulders; he sat opposite. I saw them devour each
other with their eyes. For both of them the stage, Goldoni’s Pamela,
Salvini, Marini, the public, even the entire world, were non-existant
to-night. And I–what was I at that moment?–
Originally posted 2007-06-19 16:22:56. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
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